Invested Redemption

Alex Westmont didn’t think of himself as a vagabond. True, he was a long way from Wall Street and he rode the rails now, but he still felt that he had relative worth, just as a human being.

Alex hunched his shoulders around the pot-sized fire he had lit inside the boxcar. This particular boxcar that swayed and rocked, had no door. Six feet away, the gray night swept by at fifty miles an hour. None of this mattered, he told himself. He didn’t need his Mercedes, his mansion, his security detail…

A shuffle of feet behind Alex forced him to turn around and glare at three rail thugs in the back of the car. They were vagrants, not unlike himself. They had their own fire. Their out-stretched fingers trembles as they, with hollow eyes, watched Alex’s fire. He had gathered more wood than they before jumping onboard. Sometime in the night, Alex guessed they would steal the rest of his wood. And that was okay—as long as they didn’t find his money belt.

Seven years ago, it had been a bull market. Alex had been the leading diversification investor in his firm. On the side, he had managed a company’s hostile takeover. That’s when Alex’s own accountant had been discovered stealing. The books were wrong. The accountant ran. That left Alex owing money--a lot of money. He lost everything but the mansion, but since he believed in his reputation even as it crumbled, he sold the mansion and paid off his final debts. He had not been guilty of a crime, but he was responsible for many ruined lives nonetheless.

Seven years ago, he was somebody. Now, he was hobo bait. But just because he rode the rails didn’t mean that he had forgotten his years of econometrics. He had used his knowledge of hedging and reading the market’s signs to earn a little on the side. He had advised one homeowner and filed tax forms for another. He kept himself fed, and in seven years, he had even saved a few thousand dollars. He kept that money wrapped tightly around his belly. It filled the space where his princely gut had once been.

Alex closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of his fire. He really wanted to sleep, but not with those three in the same car with him. He traveled the Highline Rail to avoid people, not mingle with them. To stay awake, he would have to occupy his mind somehow. On what would he spend his money? He already knew he wouldn’t spend it on himself. It was something about his past that told him he didn’t deserve comfort now, not when he had hurt so many.

Redemption, Alex decided. That’s what he needed. The money he had saved would give him a new life, and new beginning. But he knew he would spend it on someone else; someone who could not do what he could do; someone who could not work the numbers the way he could; someone who deserved it.

Alex didn’t remember falling asleep—only blinking—before they were upon him. They battered him violently as he fell forward onto his own fire and rolled away. They kicked him in the ribs and slugged him on his head. Alex crawled toward the open door and clear of his aggressors. He wasn’t mad at them as much as he was at himself for falling asleep, for giving them a chance to jump him.

On his hands and knees, he looked back at the three tramps. They were hastily grabbing at the remaining pieces of firewood. It wouldn’t last them through the night, Alex knew. Their fire was too large.

“Firewood is like finances,” Alex mumbled at the men. He nursed a bloody lip. “We all learn moderation sooner or later, usually the hard way.”

Offended, one man held up a chunk of wood for a club and moved toward Alex.

With a lunge, Alex dove out of the train, not really caring how fast the ground was flying past. On impact, he broke an arm and a leg. Before he passed out, he thought it was better than the alternative with those three in the boxcar.

When Alex awoke, the sun was up. A shadow moved over him and something prodded his side. He opened his eyes to look up at a dirty child with a stick. She was a little girl with a face as filthy as her hands, dressed in torn clothing. The child smiled, poked him once more, and then ran away.

Alex cringed as he struggled to sit up. He felt a chill sweep over him. A part of him wished he hadn’t survived the tumble out of the boxcar. He gazed after the child. She disappeared into a small vagrant city of cardboard shelters and tin roofs. Alex looked down at his leg. The pant leg was torn and he had lost more than a little blood.

How long had he been lying there unnoticed? It didn’t matter now. He probably wouldn’t last long and he didn’t expect to get help from anyone around here. He couldn’t remember which drab city this was, but he knew it was recently founded—since the recession anyway.

“Hey, Mister, you don’t look too good,” a young woman said. On her hip was an infant in rags. A child mothering a child. The mother’s hair was ratted, but Alex recognized her. A daughter of someone he knew in his past, someone he had wronged.

“You need some water or something?” she pressed, stepping closer.

He did need water, but he wouldn’t bother her. What little water this girl might have didn’t need to be wasted on him. He reached under his shirt and unstrapped his money belt.

“If you had money to start over,” Alex asked, barely louder than a whisper, “would you know what to do?”

She knelt next to him and touched his brow.

“Don’t talk, Mister. You’ve got a fever.”

He laid the money belt in her lap. The baby drooled on his arm, giggled, and cooed. He forced a smile through his agony.

“Spend it slower than I once did,” Alex advised, and then toppled over to the frozen ground. His eyes faded, though his smile was no longer forced.

“Mister? Mister?”

The girl shed a tear, feeling helpless. She picked the money belt up and unzipped it slowly, her baby babbling happily. The young mother spied the cash, then gasped and stared at Alex’s motionless body. Her eyes narrowed, then softened with recognition.

“I will,” she promised, “Mr. Westmont…”

She touched Alex’s shoulder once more, and then walked down the tracks to the city.

THE END